


Umi bōzu

by StealthKaiju



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Forgiveness, Idiots in Love, M/M, Moby Dick References, Monomania, Survival, Tarsus IV, Trauma, seriously i just read that book to nick quotes from it, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Umi bōzu = Japanese giant sea spirit that sinks ships, particularly those that talk about itKodos died on Tarsus. And part of Kirk did too. The past is the past, and it can't hurt you anymore.Except, that's not true, is it? And when your past catches up to you, it threatens to swallow you whole.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a dark fic, and while I try not to be gratuitous there is violence and some gore. If you are unsure of anything, please feel free to ask (@kaijustealth on twitter). I have got most of this written out, so hope to update soon. Hope you enjoy.

There is a boy, eleven years old, almost twelve. He is hiding.

 

He is not playing. He does not wish to be found.

 

There is a man walking near him, the thud of his heavy boots almost masked by the sound of the boy’s quickened heartbeat that drums in his head. The man is slow and cautious, a spider seeking out the twitch of movement in its web.

 

Eventually the boots stop right by the boy. He knows the tablecloth will be lifted and he’ll be revealed. He tenses his body, preparing to run as soon as he is able.

 

The tablecloth is pulled back and he bolts out, but the man is quicker, and bigger, and stronger than him. He is pulled back, rough fingers digging into his hips, as he is dragged out.  He tries to claw away, breaks his nails on the floor, but it does not help.

 

The man has pulled him up and pushed him to sit on the table, his hands on his shoulders, pinning him there. He is a tall man, broad shouldered, with a handsome, symmetrical face and white even teeth. He sneers at him. ‘S’no point struggling, I’m not letting you go.’

 

The boy kicks and spits, so the man slams him back into the table, holds him down by the neck and chest. The boy struggles, but it causes him pain, crushing his throat or his ribs, and so he lies still.

 

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know, and he’s scared.

 

‘Now then,’ says the man in a syrupy voice. ‘Why don’t we just have a nice chat?’ Cold fingers trace over the boy’s neck and the man leans so close that his rotten breath wafts over the boy’s face.

 

There is the sound of something cracking and a soft gurgle. A look of confusion crosses the man’s face as he sees the tip of blade poking out of him.

 

There is the sound of meat being sliced as it is pulled out of him. And there is blood, a lot of blood, and he keels over.

 

The boy manages to roll away before the body falls on him. He sees his friend standing there, bloody knife in hand, a look of confusion on her face. Thirteen years old, almost fourteen.

 

‘How did you…’ the boy begins, but loses the words in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. Does not know if he is sickened, grateful, or both.

 

‘What do we do now?’ he asks.

 

She looks at him then looks at the body, studying it the way one might study an unusual painting. ‘See if he had anything useful on him, then leave,’ she says, voice calm and cold.

 

He nods. That sounds sensible.

 

Before the week is over, he will kill to protect her. And she will kill twice more to protect him.


	2. Adrift

*

_‘Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part (…) I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgement.’_

_*_

 

‘Call me Jim.’

 

‘Captain, we are on duty,’ Spock began, in his professorial tone.

 

‘No, Spock, we’re in the turbo-lift on the way to the bridge.’ Kirk winked. ‘It’s a full thirty seconds before we’ll get there.’

 

Spock huffed. ‘A second is a fixed measure of time; it can neither be full nor empty. And it is in actuality twenty eight point three seconds until we are on the bridge.’ An infinitesimally small frown crossed his features. ‘Less than eighteen point six seconds.’

 

‘Do you count in your sleep, do you think?’ Kirk asked smiling.

 

‘If I do so, it would be no more aggravating than the snoring of a Terran male.’

 

Kirk scoffed haughtily. ‘I do not snore,’ he said, each word enunciated sharply.

 

‘I would advise against making such claims on a hypothesis you cannot verify through your own empirical evidence.’

 

The doors pinged open, and Kirk walked out first, a slight tension in his shoulders. ‘We will discuss this later,’ he muttered.

 

‘Of course, captain. Perhaps we could make a scientific study of it – I believe we have a senior staff meeting this afternoon, and since you have fallen asleep at seventy two percent of these meetings-‘

 

‘Hey, only at the ones after a mission’s  turned into a shitstorm– I’m usually still drugged up on whatever Bones has used to fix me, and yet you insist on having them almost straight away.’

 

‘Protocol dictates, captain.’

 

Kirk raised an eyebrow. ‘You just like to see me suffer.’ He took a deep breath and walked over to his chair, sitting down and saying thank you to the yeoman for his report and a far more heartfelt thank you to yeoman who gave him his coffee.

 

Only six more months in the black. Five years, and then (suddenly) only six months left. He couldn’t believe it.

 

If he was being truthful to himself, he didn’t want to believe it.

 

What the hell was he going to do with himself when the mission was over?

 

*

 

‘Captain, we are picking up an unusual signal, twenty-two point four kilometres away,’ said Spock suddenly.

 

Kirk, who had been on edge since they’d entered the Briar Patch two hours before, turned to face the science station. ‘Are we sure it’s not the effect of metaphysic radiation? And why wasn’t it picked up on the long range scanners?’

 

Spock contemplated. ‘I do not believe it to be a fault of our equipment. This area is full of gas pockets, debris and spatial anomalies. It has been like looking for a windowpane in a rushing river.’

 

Kirk tried not to smile. Spock - though fluent in many languages, and of course a genius – could not really get the hang of human similes. Still he tried, and Kirk had to appreciate that. ‘How long until it’s within visual range?’

 

Spock tapped a few buttons. ‘Four point two minutes Captain.’

 

Kirk sighed. ‘I’d forgotten how slow impulse power is. And one-third impulse power feels like walking could be quicker.’ He could see Spock take a breath, readying to start a lecture. ‘I know it’s much faster than actually walking, Mister Spock, and I know we can’t go faster until Scotty’s team modifies the impulse drive assemblies.’ He shrugged. ‘Just feels like I’m sitting here doing nothing.’

 

‘Technically,Captain, you’re drinking coffee and sitting,’ called Sulu, voice cheerful, safe in the knowledge that Kirk was far too lazy to ever fill out a report for low-level insubordination (or ‘cheek’ as Scotty called it).

 

‘It’s one of my many skills,’ Kirk quipped back, resigned to wait.

 

A few minutes later the anomaly was on the screen, and the bridge was silent for a few seconds in shock.

 

There were two ships. The first was an Orion Interceptor, parts missing and strewn over the space around it. Extensive damage to the hull and engines, one of the wings sheared off completely. A floating graveyard of a ship. The other ship, almost like a dragonfly in its construction, did not match any Federation records, but even this had no engine power, and had pieces missing, as if it were a blanket eaten by moths.

 

What was most striking though were tiny patches of bright neon green stuck to both ships. They were so dazzling that they almost completely hid the dull, tiny dots of grey gently floating around the ships.

 

‘Are those… are those bodies?’ Kirk said quietly. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. ‘There’s so many of them.’

 

‘I detect at least sixty. The majority have been identified as Orion, all deceased. There are some of a species the computer does not recognise. I am scanning for life signs.’ A few seconds passed. “Wait, Captain, the unknown ship… life support systems are functional in one of the nacelles.’

 

‘Uhura, try a hailing frequency. I want us to get closer. Scotty?’ He waited for the engineer to respond. ‘Tell us when we’re in range for transportation.’

 

They moved in closer, and Scotty called that they were in transport range. ‘Spock, scan for life signs. Any answer to our hail Uhura?’

 

She frowned. ‘I’m getting something, but it seems mostly hissing. It sounds like static but…’ Her fingers flew over the keyboard. ‘Yes, there is something other than static, it’s just not recognised by the universal translator… almost sounds like an animal.’

 

‘Being able to answer a hail suggests sentience, so keep trying to establish contact.’ He smiled at Uhura. ‘Keep going.’

 

‘Aye Captain,’ she said quickly, than continued at her work.

 

‘Spock, any idea what those green lights are?’

 

‘Their composition is a mix of chemicals and radiation that the computer database has not come across before. They seem to be a silicon-based lifeform, completely unique. I have established a magnified visual.’

 

The bridge crew looked down to their padds (all apart from Uhura, working diligently at trying to communicate with the unknown ship). It did not look pleasant.

 

‘It looks a bit like a ghost mushroom, except it’s moving too fast,’ Sulu whispered.

 

‘It does bear significant resemblance to _omphalotus nidiformis_ ,’ Spock said calmly. ‘Except for the fact that it seems to have multiple mouths, each with a full complement of teeth.’

 

‘It’s also eating zhe ships,’ Chekov whispered faintly. ‘And zhe bodies.’

 

Kirk hailed Scotty. ‘Lock-on to the unknown ship, the nacelle with life support. How many lifeforms?’

 

There were a few seconds of inaudible muttering. ‘Only the one I can make out, but the biometric signature of the thing would make transport risky. Scanning it now, trying to get the pattern saved, in case of transportation.’

 

‘Thank you Scotty.’ There was a loud gasp from Uhura, and they all turned to her. ‘The exterior walls on the nacelle have been breached, just heard the noise.’ She swallowed. ‘I can’t tell what they’re saying, but they sound more distressed.’

 

‘A breach would seriously compromise the life support systems,’ Spock said. ‘They may not have much time.’

 

‘Scotty, you got that bio-signature scanned?’ Kirk asked.

 

‘Aye,’ replied Scotty.

 

‘Right, set up a quarantine force-field around the transport pad, and then bring them over,’ Kirk commanded. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Not ideal to not get their permission, but leaving them to be eaten by killer space mushrooms seems worse.’

 

There were a few minutes of tense silence on the bridge, until Scotty signalled that the lifeform had been beamed over. ‘On my way,’ Kirk answered, practically sprinting to the turbolift. ‘Sulu, you have the conn. Keep our distance, but I want to remain in this area. We need to identify the Orion ship, let the syndicate know if we can. If they get near to us, evasive manoeuvres and contact me straight away.’ He waited at the doors. ‘Spock, you’re with me, we’ll get McCoy and Chapel too.’

 

‘Captain, we know nothing about this lifeform, or how dangerous it is. I would recommend caution; I do not think it wise for the ship’s commanding officer to be one of the first to make contact.’

 

Kirk smiled. ‘You’re right, we do know nothing about them. But damned if I let someone else find out before I do.’

 

*

 

The two men stood side by side on the turbolift, shoulders almost touching, hands held together behind their back in parade rest. Spock could have easily reached out his hand and entwined his fingers with Kirk.

 

He resisted the urge.

 

‘Captain, as horrific as the green silicon-based anomalous lifeforms were to us, it seems to not attempt to collect a sample for further study is a waste of a scientific opportunity.’

 

Kirk huffed. ‘Spock, we are five months from Earth. I am not going to authorise the attempted capture and containment of an unknown specimen that eats starships!’ He winked. ‘Not even if you ask nicely.’

 

*

 

‘What the hell is this thing?’ McCoy said aghast.

 

‘Doctor, just because we cannot understand this creature, does not mean it cannot understand us, or at least the implied meaning of tonal inflection,’ Spock admonished.

 

The unknown creature was standing deadly still on the transporter pad, nearly nine feet tall and heavily muscled. Two huge silver eyes, like those of an insect, watched them intently. Occasionally the tip of a forked tongue would flick out of its mouth, between very sharp teeth.

 

‘Sure the force-field is gonna be enough against it?’ McCoy muttered.

 

Kirk walked up to the edge of the pad. He spread his hands, and spoke calmly and slowly. ‘I am Captain Kirk. You are on the USS Enterprise, a Federation exploration ship. We will not hurt you.’

 

The creature walked slowly to the blue light of the edge of the barrier, and slowly put out a hand, its three fingers reaching out. It had very long claws. There was a slight fzzt as it made contact, and the creature drew back its hand quickly. It made a hissing sound, baring its teeth slightly.

 

‘I’m sorry, we’re just scanning you, should be able to let you out in a few minutes.’ Kirk cajoled.

 

‘We’ll be doing what?!’ McCoy almost shrieked.

 

‘Rarely do I agree with the doctor, but I must insist we cannot let them loose on the ship.’

 

‘We’re not,’ Kirk huffed. ‘We’ll transport them to quarantine in sick-bay.’ He smiled at McCoy and Chapel. ‘That way you can run diagnostics, see what we’re dealing with. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the current head of the Trade Union on Orion. When we get the black box, we’ll trade it for information. Chances are they might have encountered this species before, perhaps they’ll know more about it.’

 

‘You hypothesise the Orion have encountered this race before?’ Spock asked.

 

Kirk nodded. ‘There’ve been pirates and smugglers in this sector forever. Chances are they’ve encountered more than the Federation has.’ He frowned. ‘Any information we got on that xenofungus… I want to report it to them, but under no circumstances give them biological or chemical information about it.’

 

‘You think they would attempt to manufacture it? Weaponise it in some way?’ Spock queried.

 

Kirk smiled tightly. ‘Maybe not, but they’d definitely sell it to someone who would.’

 

‘Uhura,’ the creature said suddenly, an almost perfect imitation of Uhura’s voice. They all turned to face it. ‘Uhura,’ it said again, more urgently.

 

‘Its mimicry is almost perfect,’ Chapel whispered.

 

Kirk tapped his communicator. ‘Uhura, are you able to come down to quarantine in five minutes? Our… guest is asking for you.’

 

‘Aye Captain,’ came the unfazed reply.

 

*

 

Kirk was grateful that they had a couple of days R’n’R at the starbase. For a long time he had felt overused, stretched too thin. ‘Like butter scraped over too much bread,’ he said softly to himself, then looked up to find Scotty look at him curiously.

 

‘Sorry Scotty, was thinking I was looking forward to some time to relax.’

 

Scotty looked confused. ‘You were talkin’ about bread and butter.’

 

Kirk laughed. ‘Sorry, was quoting from a book.’

 

Scotty shrugged. ‘I thought you were just thinkin’ about your lunch.’ He resumed with his work in front of him. ‘Me, I’ll just be happy to catch up on sleep.’

 

Kirk nodded. ‘Yeah, well I won’t expect anything as miraculous at that.’

 

*

 

The nightmares were back.

 

Kirk was usually very good at compartmentalising. Trauma and grief got boxed away in his brain, and mostly ignored. Occasionally, rarely, in the dark and lonely night, he would open that box, find a piece of it; hold it, inspect its sharp, jagged edges; then back in the box it would go.

 

But over the last few years… how much suffering had they endured? How many friends had they lost? They carried on, but sometimes it was almost impossible to stay strong and calm, the captain his crew needed him to be. He would give orders in a crisis, make a few jokes after when the day had been saved, and then just collapse in his quarters, physically drained.

 

McCoy knew. Some days he joined him, calmly sitting with him, and they talked. Spock probably suspected, but didn’t say. Yet, he always seemed to know when a distraction was needed (chess, a debate, a lesson in Suus Mahna that Kirk inevitably failed but was always smiling at the end of). But who could expect them to be there with him when he slept?

 

Some days – like today, and the shock of finding the Orion and Gorn ships, two floating horrors – were harder than others. But he would be fine.

 

He was always fine.

 

*

 

McCoy caught up with him in the officer’s mess the day before their leave was scheduled. ‘Jim, you got plans yet? A whole bunch of us from medical are goin’ out together.’

 

‘Not feeling up to bar hopping with you,’ Kirk said sheepishly. ‘I’m going to go to that talk with Spock, then probably go for dinner after.’

 

McCoy gave a crafty smile and folded his arms.

 

‘What’s that look for?’ Kirk asked.

 

‘Nothing,’ McCoy replied in a tone that confirmed that there was definitely something. ‘What’s the talk on?’

 

Kirk began packing up his tray. ‘Cymothoa exigua.’

 

McCoy raised an eyebrow. ‘The tongue-eating louse? What sort of date is that?’

 

Kirk took a deep breath, before he throttled his friend. ‘It’s not a date,’ he hissed. He checked to see no one was close enough to hear. ‘And you can’t make jokes about that, not when you know how I feel about him.’

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘Who said I was joking?’

 

Kirk left the table. ‘I am not in the mood for this again,’ he said tartly, walking off. ‘You want to meet later, great, but only if you stop being such an ass.’

 

‘Aye, Aye, Captain,’ McCoy called back, saluting, turning back to his lunch with a satisfied smirk.

 

*

 

‘It’s not a date,’ Kirk muttered to himself as he tried on his fourth potential outfit. ‘It’s not… oh, fuck you McCoy!’ He eventually chose a casual but well-fitted top, and jeans, comfortable yet smart enough to go to a nice restaurant afterwards.

 

And he may have put on a little eye-liner because he was off-duty, and because it looked nice, and oh gods, stop treating it like a date Kirk, it is not a date!

 

He walked over to the transporter room, planning to meet Spock at a café down on the base before the conference. As sad as it was, he was looking forward to hearing more about the parasite – it had been a while since he had the time to just learn for the sake of learning. Interesting but not necessary knowledge, something he didn’t have to worry that he would need to know later or remember in a crisis.

 

And he was grateful for any opportunity to spend time with Spock. He had finally admitted that to himself only recently (and had admitted it to McCoy only while heavily inebriated, yet somehow McCoy didn’t suffer from drunken memory loss, the lucky bastard).

 

Scotty, who was staying on the ship (and would likely only ever leave in a coffin, unless he had his wish and his remains were somehow incorporated into the warp engine), wished him a good trip.

 

‘Come back in one piece, Captain.’

 

‘That’s your responsibility, isn’t it?’ Kirk winked.

 

As the transporter began humming, a few seconds before he would be dematerialised and transformed into a matter stream, his atoms beamed into subspace and reconfigured into him again, he only had one thought in his head.

 

This isn’t a date.

 

*

_‘there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other’_

*

_Then_

 

‘That is a ridiculous amount of alcohol.’

 

‘You requested a gin and tonic – I presumed it was equal parts of both.’

 

Kirk threw back his head and laughed. ‘You must have been popular at parties.’

 

Spock arched an eyebrow. ‘I was not.’

 

Kirk shrugged. ‘You didn’t miss much.’

 

‘You speak of parties?’

 

‘I was thinking more about the popularity.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Done fuck all for me lately.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right, let me relive my misspent youth. Pass me those bottles, am gonna make a Betazoid Blitz.’

 

‘I predict I will regret this enquiry, but why is it-‘

 

‘Because you certainly feel it in the morning.’ He waved his hand, dismissing Spock’s look of disdain. ‘You know, because Betazoids are empathic, so-‘

 

Spock huffed. ‘Indeed. I do regret this enquiry.’

 

*

 

‘Why aren’t you sharing quarters with Uhura?’ Kirk said suddenly, head turning to Spock and his body leaning along with it.

 

‘She did not feel it was appropriate as we are no longer romantically involved,’ Spock said carefully.

 

Kirk’s eyebrows creased. ‘But she was wearing that necklace you gave her. I just…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I just assumed. I’m sorry, that was incredibly tactless of me.’ He leaned in closer to whisper, almost stumbling. ‘To be honest, Spock… Commander… Spock… I may be a little bit drunk.’

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I had surmised that.’ He sighed softly. ‘Nyota is remarkable, and she will remain a close and trusted confidante. I wished her to still have my mother’s necklace as a token of my regard and affection, which I still have for her, even if the nature of that affection has changed. She is kind enough to wear it in memoriam of both my mother and the Vulcan people.’ He gave a sharp look to Kirk. ‘It is not an indication of romance between us, whatever gossip may speculate.’

 

Kirk took a few more wobbly steps. ‘That’s fair. I mean, I wear Bones’ socks all the time, we’re not dating.’

 

They walked in silence. ‘Why do you wear his socks, instead of replicating your own pairs?’

 

‘Oh, he’s got nice, soft ones made from Andorian bull wool. Damn long time to code into the replicator, and they never come out right.’ A mischievous sprite-like smile lit up his features. ‘Besides, the fun part’s that it pisses him off.’

 

*

 

Spock had helped Kirk onto his bed, and was helping him remove his shoes. Kirk kept trying to aid him in this endeavour, which naturally made the process longer and more complicated. There was a soft thump as Kirk’s head fell on the pillow, and Spock went to move to his own side of the room. ‘Lights at five percent’ he called, and the light dimmed.

 

‘Are you going to sleep straight away?’ Kirk asked, his voice cautious.

 

‘No. I had planned to meditate first. Would that be a problem?’

 

‘No, no, I just… I’m not that tired yet. Takes me ages to get to sleep, though conversation helps. Used to drive Bones up the wall, not that he could stay awake for more than two minutes after the lights went out.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Seriously, the man’s like a parrot.’

 

‘He does indulge in repetition frequently,’ Spock answered (and was rewarded with that soft chuckle from Kirk).

 

‘Uhuh. Squawks occasionally too.’

 

‘I am not in the habit of sharing quarters, so talking in the dark is a novel experience. Why does it appeal to you?’ Spock asked.

 

‘It’s easier to talk when you can’t see the person’s face. Can’t see their reaction.’ Kirk shifted. ‘Can’t see what they think of you.’ He sighed. ‘Almost like a confessional really.’

 

Spock was curious, despite his better judgement. ‘I did not assume you were religious.’

 

Kirk barked out a laugh. ‘Oh gods, no! It’s just… I can understand the appeal of it, especially the old fashioned ones. You know, you talk, confess your sins, get them out from your head. Someone says ‘yes, you’ve sinned, but this is what you do to be forgiven’ – it reduces the complexity of morality to a set of equations, doesn’t it? Committed ‘x’ so do ‘y’. As if absolution was obtainable.’

 

‘It is thought that Terrans were naturally predisposed to believe in a higher power as a way to assuage the fear of death. That the belief of an afterlife was a method to counteract the terror of their own mortality, that was used by various cultures and societies to control behaviour.’

 

Kirk grunted. ‘That may be the case.’

 

Spock felt unsure. Perhaps, in his attempt to be logical and truthful, he had been insensitive and inconsiderate according to Terran norms. ‘Have I offended you in some way?’

 

Kirk turned his body towards Spock. An unnecessary action, as he would not be able to see him properly (Spock, with his superior vision, could still see the details of the other’s face – the curve of his lips and the blue of his eyes). ‘I’m not offended. To be honest, I don’t worry about what may come next. Got enough to deal with now.’ A look of something dark and sorrowful crossed across his features. ‘Lost my chance at paradise a long time ago.’

 

Spock was aware that the captain was inebriated. As much as he wished to know why he felt he was unworthy, it would be underhand to manipulate the captain into revealing something he may not wish to be known while he was under the influence of alcohol. It would be exploitative. He thought that it would be best to change the subject.

 

‘What are your plans for tomorrow?’ he asked.

 

‘Well, I plan to lie-in for all of the morning, lamenting alcohol and regretting all decisions that have taken me thus far,’ began Kirk, his voice far more cheerful. ‘I will then appeal to Bones’ charitable nature for a hypo. When this fails, I will attempt to pull rank. When that fails, I’m just going to annoy him until he gives me it.’

 

Safely unseen in the dark, Spock quirked his mouth. ‘And after you have irritated Doctor McCoy into ignoring standard medical procedure for you?’

 

Kirk swallowed. ‘Letters,’ he replied quietly. ‘Have all those letters to write.’

 

The two were silent. There had been many deaths at the hands of Krall, and each one had a family to be notified – people who had to be told that they were not coming home.

 

‘I will help.’

 

‘Spock, the responsibility is-‘

 

‘There is little to be achieved by argument. I intend to do so, and I shall.’

 

Kirk smiled sadly. ‘What would I do without you, Spock?’ He leaned back onto the bed. ‘I’m glad you decided to stay.’

 

Spock was temporarily at a loss for words. ‘You are aware I considered resignation?’ he asked, though it was an obviously redundant question.

 

‘Yes. Would’ve been a bit awkward, as I’d recommended you to replace me as captain.’

 

‘You were planning to leave?’ Spock exclaimed, his voice far louder than he had meant it to be.

 

‘I’d applied for vice-admiral.’ Kirk sounded sheepish. ‘Which would have kept me off a ship for good, gods know what I was thinking. Space madness maybe? Nothing like a madman and catastrophe to really sweep away that existentialist ennui, is there?’ He yawned. ‘I mean, can you imagine me attending meetings, sitting behind a desk?’

 

Spock huffed. ‘Even if I were inclined to speculative visualisation, I would not be able to imagine you even sitting for a period of time longer than two point four minutes.’

 

‘Hey! I sit on the bridge all the time… I hardly ever fidget.’ There was a pause. ‘You know, I don’t need to see you to know you’re giving me that look, you know, the one that says ‘you’re an idiot’.’

 

Spock lay down in his own bed, deciding that meditation was not necessary. ‘I am glad you stayed.’

 

‘As am I, Spock. Though it makes it so much easier that you’re here as well. With me. I mean, with the Enterprise.’

 

‘Thank you Captain.’

 

‘Jim, please. We’re off duty, and in bed, so no formalities.’ He yawned again. ‘What made you stay?’

 

Spock spent a few seconds considering. ‘I had intended to go to New Vulcan and continue Ambassador Selek’s work there. Yet, after his death, some of his effects were sent to me and… it made me rethink my decision.’

 

‘I’m glad it did, but what was it that did it?’

 

Spock sighed. ‘His photographs of his crew. His own Enterprise. Despite being the same man, we are very different men, but seeing him find a place for himself, somewhere he belonged…’ He swallowed. ‘I have never felt as if I belonged on Vulcan. Why would I feel any different on New Vulcan? Why would I be accepted there?’

 

‘They’d be lucky to have you.’

 

‘Thank you… Jim… but your assessment is coloured by your sentimentalism. Your… regard for me biases your judgment.’

 

‘No, Spock’ said Kirk, his words heavy with sleep. ‘I see you exactly as you are.’

 

A few seconds later there was no sound in the room, save for the deep even breaths of Kirk in his sleep.

 

*

 

_Now_

Spock (he looks good out of uniform- shut up brain!) waved at him from one of the tables near the back of the café, and Jim tried not to run over too eagerly. The place was busy, lots of tables and noisy patrons from all over the Federation, and he was feeling nervous enough as it was (damn Bones and his stupid, stupid talking!). He took a seat opposite Spock and smiled. ‘Wow, this place is crowded.’

 

Spock looked contrite, as far as his Vulcan demeanour would allow him to look contrite. ‘I apologise – if it is too busy…’

 

Jim waved a hand, and grabbed a menu. ‘That’s usually a good sign, Spock. Also, I’m just being a grump – so used to the ship, being around so many strangers is just a bit weird, that’s all.’ He smiled again at Spock without thinking. ‘Have you been here before?’

 

‘No I-‘ Spock shifted slightly in his seat. ‘I had a recommendation from a friend.’

 

‘Well, let’s give it a go…’ Jim mused as he scanned the menu. ‘Okay, there’s a lot more choice for me then I was expecting, usually because of the whole allergies thing there’s not a lot I can eat when out… okay, this all looks great.’ He looked at Spock calculatingly. ‘What are you having?’

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I am sure the proprietors are willing to create more than one serving of each type of dish on offer, Jim. What I have will not affect your choice.’

 

Jim laughed. ‘Now you’re just teasing me.’ He went back to studying his menu, concentrating on making a decision quickly, therefore not noticing the slight green tinge to Spock’s cheeks. He had almost made his mind up when he heard two young Vulcan women on the next table being incredibly rude about Spock.

 

They were speaking in Vulcan, calmly but loud enough to be heard, and Jim, though not as fluent as Uhura in Vulcan, could still recognise some very ugly terms and slurs. He leaned over, keeping a friendly smile as they looked on in disgust.

 

‘K'lalatar prnak'lirli’ he said brightly. Which was simply repeating back to them the Vulcan philosophy of ‘infinite diversity in infinite combinations’, politely making the point that they were making absolute bigoted idiots of themselves.

 

He smirked as they made a hasty retreat.  ‘Sorry Spock,’ he said, turning back to his friend. ‘I know you could have handled that if you wanted to; I just found it distracting.’

 

Spock was staring at him intently. ‘You speak Vulcan well,’ Spock commented neutrally.

 

‘Thank you professor,’ Kirk replied cheekily. ‘Always had good oral skills,’ he added, because old habits die hard.

 

There was a pause where realisation hit him like a freight train, and he nearly died of mortification. Luckily the server had come, and he took it as a good sign that Spock had ordered his food and not walked out in disgust. As long as he continued to behave himself, and not say anything as stupid again, even in jest.

 

Had it been in jest though? Or a really, really rusty attempt at flirting? Oh gods, this wasn’t a date, get it together Kirk, just get it together…

 

When they had ordered and the server had gone, Spock turned to face him again. ‘If I were speaking as your professor,’ he began, rolling the syllables of the last word carefully as if they might break, ‘I would say that while your fluency is very good and your pronunciation clear and concise…’ He took a sip of water, taking his time. ‘… there is never any point to complacency. While practise can never achieve perfection, as perfection is not scientifically achievable whatever Terran idiom states otherwise, it is a useful tool to improve and refine existing skills.’

 

Jim raised an eyebrow.

 

‘In essence,’ Spock continued, ‘however good your oral skills are, practise is always beneficial.’

 

And before Jim could interpret that, Spock asked him a question about the running of the ship, and he was distracted from thinking about it for the rest of the meal.

 

*

 

_Then_

‘Spock, what the hell are you doing here?’ McCoy crossed his arms and glared at Spock. ‘I swear, every time Jim gets injured, you’re in here’.

 

‘It is a requisite of an efficient first officer to take an interest in the health and well-being of their commander, and as it is my free time I am neglecting no other duties. Do not take my presence here to be an implicit critique of your abilities.’

 

McCoy sighed and wiped his face. ‘So, you do trust me to look after him?’

 

‘Doctor, I would trust you to look after anyone on this ship, including myself,’ Spock said quietly.

 

McCoy sighed again, a long weary exhale. ‘Then why are you here Spock, cluttering up my sickbay?’

 

Spock huffed. ‘I am not ‘cluttering up’ anything. I am seated in the designated waiting area, and have touched no items within it, with the exception of the chair upon which I am seated.’

 

A Cheshire cat grin spread over McCoy’s face. ‘So,’ he drawled, ‘you’re here in an official capacity only are you? I mean, if you’re worried about logs and reports, I can send any reports to your padd…’

 

‘I would prefer to wait here.’

 

The grin became wider. ‘Would you now? That’s interesting.’

 

‘I fail to see the relevance.’

 

McCoy scoffed. ‘That’s probably true.’ He shook his head. ‘Idiots, I’m surrounded by idiots,’ he said to himself quietly. He cleared his throat. ‘Spock, go get some sleep. Or meditate, whatever, just don’t wait here. I promise I’ll message you as soon as he’s awake.’ He smiled. ‘He’ll be okay. There’s no need to feel responsible-‘

 

‘I do not feel responsible,’ Spock snapped, the hands on his lap trembling slightly. ‘I cannot be responsible for the captain taking a course of action that – had he bothered to consult me first – I would have in no way endorsed.’ His hands clenched into fists. ‘Over the course of this mission the captain has been gravely injured thirty-two times; out of those occasions, twenty-eight times his efforts to protect me have been a mitigating factor, if not a direct cause of, his injury.’ He sighed quietly. ‘He cannot risk his own safety for mine, it is against protocol; it is illogical…’ He looked up at McCoy. ‘I wish to know why he does.’

 

McCoy raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, you’re the genius Spock.’ He started to walk away, calling back behind him. ‘You work it out.’

 

*

 

_Now_

‘That was great,’ Jim enthused as he walked out of the auditorium, both he and Spock walking quickly to try and avoid getting stuck behind a milling crowd. ‘Been ages since I went to a lecture and didn’t have to worry about a test afterwards.’

 

Spock looked at him with his customary raised eyebrow. ‘You were still taking notes.’

 

Jim looked sheepish. ‘Well, it was interesting.’ He sighed. ‘Not like we all have a logical, superior Vulcan brain to remember everything.’ He smiled. ‘I’m only human.’

 

‘You are a superior example of your race, Jim,’ Spock replied.

 

Jim nearly stumbled in surprise. Compliments from Spock were rare – he was never nice for the sake of being nice, and he had high, exacting standards. ‘Um…’ Jim answered eloquently. ‘What, an Iowan?’

 

Spock’s lips quirked. ‘I am considering retracting my statement.’

 

‘Too late,’ Jim said quickly. ‘It’s official – you think I’m great. No takebacks.’

 

They walked a few minutes in companionable silence. The restaurant was very close to the auditorium, and they reached it quickly.

 

‘This is… a lot swisher than the officers’ mess,’ Jim whispered reverently. The restaurant was almost like a glass box, filled with tables with clean white cloths, and colourful, bioluminescent foliage in the corners that changed colours slowly. In the centre was a fountain, with clear crystal water gently cascading over elegant statues.

 

‘Swish can be a verb, meaning to move with a hissing or rushing sound, or an onomatopoeic noun. I fail to see how this restaurant matches either of those definitions.’ Spock replied in a serious tone, but his eyes were alight with mischief. Not just anyone would have spotted it, but Jim was almost fluent in Spock’s micro-expressions.

 

‘Looks great Spock. Nice choice.’ He stopped, forcing Spock to stop also. He turned to his friend. ‘It’s- thanks for tonight. Was just what I needed.’ He gave a small, soft smile. ‘Really appreciate it.’

 

Spock looked at him intently. ‘I know Jim,’ he said quietly.

 

*

 

_Then_

Kirk could feel a heaviness in his limbs, but he wanted to stay and talk. ‘Are you saying that you and your Kirk didn’t try and kill each other the first time you met?’

 

Selek / Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘That would have been an audacious and ill-advised action, considering he was my commanding officer.’ He tilted his head. ‘I believe we met in more auspicious circumstances.’

 

Kirk laughed. ‘I can’t imagine you being as much of an asshole as Spock – I mean, my Spock – can be.’

 

Spock (Old Spock? The ambassador?) leaned over the table to pour more tea. ‘I had my moments.’ He handed a cup to Kirk, and both men drank in contemplative silence.

 

‘Was the Kirk you knew…’ Kirk began, his voice hesitant. ‘Was he… was he as messed up as I am?’

 

Spock was graceful enough not to try and give false platitudes. He looked away, eyes staring many years back into a faraway future. ‘He had his moments.’

 

*

 

‘It’s nice of you to put Kirk and me up, while he’s resting. Appreciated,’ said McCoy, putting the effort in not to sound as gruff as usual.

 

‘You are more than welcome,’ the ambassador replied. ‘Jim is resting presently?’

 

‘Yeah, best thing for the kid. Everything tires him.’ He rubbed his eyes, and rolled the stress out of his shoulders. A sly, fox-like look came onto his face. ‘The flowers look lovely. They native to New Vulcan?’

 

The ambassador shook his head slightly. ‘They are kal’ta, a plant native to Vulcan-that-was. The Vulcan Science Academy was kind enough to gift me some cloned seeds.’

 

‘It seems so colourful for a desert plant,’ McCoy said. ‘The violet and the blue.’

 

‘It is not a typical desert species, but a decorative plant that was cultivated in gardens. Traditionally it was grown by monks of the Order of Surak, but eventually came to be a status symbol on Vulcan, and was planted in many gardens to show wealth.’

 

McCoy shrugged. ‘Looks nice.’

 

‘Indeed.’

 

‘What’s interesting though, is that it doesn’t set off Jim’s allergies,’ McCoy began insouciantly.

 

‘I am gratified to hear it.’

 

‘Fascinating really. One of the maybe a hundred or so species known to the Federation where the pollen doesn’t contain histidine…’

 

Spock’s movement slowed, almost imperceptibly.

 

McCoy continued, as if unaware of his companion’s tension. ‘…which is what Jim is allergic to. Seriously, all year on campus he had to keep antihistamines with him. But something without histidine doesn’t set him off…’

 

Spock was now stiller than a statue.

 

‘… and funny, isn’t it, that they’re such a pretty plant too? I mean, violet and blue, Jim’s favourite colours, what a coincidence…’

 

‘If you wish to infer something, do not,’ Spock interjected icily. ‘Please state what you mean directly.’

 

McCoy crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes. ‘I know you did Vulcan voodoo, that mind-meld on him. What I want to know is how much did you get off of him?’

 

Spock stared back at him. ‘What is your analysis? And is your whole hypothesis horticulturally based?’ He spread his hands. ‘I have some mah-ta herbs in the kitchen; what is your prognosis?’

 

McCoy grunted. ‘We have a Spock of our own, Ambassador, and I know deflection.’ He sighed. ‘Alright, I’m not accusing you of deliberately prying but… what did you get from Jim?’

 

Spock bowed his head, cheeks the barest tinge of green. ‘Nothing. I assure you any transference of memory was entirely one-sided.’

 

McCoy looked confused. ‘But how…?’

 

‘It was what you might term ‘a lucky guess’.’ His hands shook slightly and he placed them behind his back. He sighed. ‘I admit that when I first knew our Doctor McCoy, I assumed his emotionalism was an indication of an intellect inferior to mine; I hope my counterpart does not make the same mistake.’

 

‘That almost sounds like a compliment.’

 

‘It is a statement of fact.’

 

McCoy smiled wryly. ‘Were you ever friends?’

 

A strange look came onto Spock’s face that McCoy found hard to interpret. ‘We were incredibly close.’ His voice softened. ‘We were so different in our approach and outlook. Our philosophies were so different, we initially assumed they were anathema to each other. However, we became very close.’

 

‘But not as close as you were to your Jim’ McCoy said, as gentle and subtle as a scalpel.

 

Spock was silent for a moment. ‘What would make you say that?’

 

McCoy kept his voice calm, placid. ‘You’re half human. You’ve been around humans the majority of your Starfleet career… you would know the significance of getting someone flowers. And you knew what flower would be suitable for Jim… were they your Jim’s favourite flowers?’

 

Spock sat down. ‘I extrapolated – I assumed…’ He blinked slowly and exhaled deeply. ‘I am aware that the two are very different men. To say you could substitute one for the other would be a disservice to them both.’ He looked at McCoy. ‘My apologies doctor, in my great age I seem to have given in to sentimentality.’

 

‘You’re only human Spock – partly’ McCoy replied.

 

‘I think it most prudent if you did not discuss any of this with your Jim or Spock – I do not want to impose or interfere with their actions in this timeline-‘

 

‘-Any more than you already have done,’ McCoy finished, smiling sweetly.

 

Spock lifted an eyebrow. ‘Indeed.’

 

*

_‘he was fearful Christianity, or rather Christians, had unfitted him for ascending the pure and undefiled throne of thirty pagan kings before him.’_

*

 

Spock stood in the hallway of the ambassador – Selek, as he was calling himself – and waited. He wished to inspect the art on the walls, much of it Terran, highly colourful and figurative, but he forced himself to stand still at parade rest.

 

Selek (will I really get so old? Spock thought) came into view. ‘Come, come,’ he beckoned for his younger self to follow him into the lounge, taking a sip of water. ‘It is much more comfortable in the sitting room.’

 

‘I will not be staying long,’ Spock said quickly, walking into the room.

 

Selek’s mouth twitched inscrutably. ‘That is a pity. Your captain is away until this evening, and he will no doubt miss your company.’

 

Spock felt a sudden flood of guilt, and he swallowed it down. ‘He is recovering well?’

 

Selek’s eyes softened. ‘Yes. He is. He is desperate to be back on his ship, but otherwise well.’ He turned to face Spock. ‘And yourself, what are your own plans? To return to the Enterprise or continue teaching?’

 

‘I was considering the Kolinahr,’ Spock replied. ‘There is a place on New Vulcan that has been reserved for-’

 

There was a loud and painful sound of glass smashing. Selek looked down to the broken glass on the floor, and his breathing quickened. Yet when Spock moved to clear the mess, Selek blurted out ‘Don’t,’ and shooed him away, his movements clumsy.

 

‘It is easier if I-’ Spock began, but Selek waved a trembling graceless hand. ‘How can you say such a thing?’ he asked, voice low and cold.

 

Spock was perplexed. ‘It is a gruelling and rigorous ritual, yet I do not think I am incapable of following the traditional-’

 

Selek almost hissed, the noise like water hitting flame. ‘You would forgo emotion? You think pure logic is superior?’

 

‘It is only the vestigial emotions,’ Spock countered. ‘The superfluous, those without necessary function…’

 

Selek’s dark eyes flashed. ‘And what are those, pray tell?’ he demanded. ‘Jealousy? Pride? Fear?’

 

Spock shook his head. ‘Those are negative emotions, they serve no useful purpose; they only torment the possessor…’

 

Selek paced away, his voice rising and heated. ‘What about compassion? Joy?’ He turned to Spock. ‘What about love? Is that superfluous too?’

 

Spock exhaled, and his hands behind his back clenched into fists. ‘I admit I am shocked by the ferocity of your reaction. I had assumed that of all people, you would understand the difficulty of my mixed heritage, and the emotional turmoil it has been the cause of. Any resolution that can help me to control emotion is surely beneficial?’

 

‘Kolinahr is not about the control of the emotion, it is about its eradication!’ Selek sighed deeply. In a gentler voice he continued. ‘Spock, the attempt to use pure logic to eliminate emotional turmoil has the same practical use as an attempt to physically split you into your Vulcan and human halves.’

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘That comparison is frivolous and melodramatic. Such an attempt would kill me.’

 

‘It is my point exactly. One may be a physical death; the other spiritual.’

 

Spock fought the urge to roll his eyes (he had been spending too much time with Doctor McCoy, who was indubitably a bad influence). He huffed quietly instead. ‘As you are quite aware, we may be the same man, but we are not the same. What decisions you made may not be suitable for me.’

 

Selek raised an eyebrow. ‘Spock, so many of my worst moments have been caused by avoiding the making of decisions.’

 

‘I see no point in this discussion. You are being obtuse,’ Spock almost snapped.

 

‘And you are being conscientiously naïve,’ Selek countered. ‘If seeking Kolinahr was something that you had always wanted, to help you understand something that was already present in yourself – but I suspect you are using it as an escape from something that you fear more.’

 

‘I am not you,’ Spock stated, words cold and toxic. ‘Our lives have been very different.’

 

Selek remained calm. ‘Grief and loss are terrifying things. They make us forget ourselves.’

 

‘You think I do not know of loss?!’ Spock could feel his hands trembling, and hot blood coursing through his body.

 

‘You are arrogant enough to pretend you are unaffected by it,’ Selek remarked placidly. ‘You pursued a superhuman for the love of a friend, and now you will not even wait a few hours to see him.’

 

Spock felt a stinging at the corner of his eyes. ‘My behaviour was shameful.’

 

‘Violence is always ugly. The loss of someone we love… it rips away a part of us, and what is left can rot.’ Selek looked away, black eyes dimming. ‘It takes a lot of effort for the wound to heal. It does not disappear, but it can heal.’

 

Spock shook his head. ‘Is it not illogical for so much of one’s happiness to be reliant on another?’

 

Selek tilted his head, looking at Spock as an amused teacher might look at a particularly stupid child. ‘Do we reprimand the flower for seeking out the sun?’

 

*

 

_Now_

‘What are you up to for the rest of your night?’ Jim asked. They had left the restaurant just as the starbase’s artificial lighting was turning into twilight.

 

Spock’s brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to hesitate. ‘I had not… planned that far.’

 

Jim bumped his elbow gently into Spock’s arm, a quick fleeting touch that he tried not to do too often, but sometimes his affection for Spock – his need to be close – overruled his better judgement. ‘Happy to keep walking for a while, if you are… or go back to the hotel…’

 

Spock had stopped, and turned to face him. They were standing very close all of a sudden.

 

‘…I dunno, chess or…’ Jim tried to carry on, but found it very hard to think. Spock was just very, very close. Less than a hands span between them. Spock just that little bit taller than him, head tilting down. And he smelt good – he smelt like Spock, that clean citrus-like smell, as well of something like mint and hibiscus. Yet, there was almost something else, a current that sparked and crackled between them, not a physical sensation but tangible enough that Jim felt a rush of heat flow through him.

 

‘I would like to go back to the hotel,’ Spock said softly, a baritone purr that quickened Jim’s pulse. ‘Although I am in no mood for chess.’

 

Jim raised his lips to Spock’s, waited a heartbeat, then moved to close the gap between them…

 

                                … and then their communicators went off, on a frequency showing a high priority message had been received and would require their immediate attention, and both men jolted at the ear-bleedingly high whistle.

 

‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ Jim spat with vehemence.


	3. Bilge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some discussion of gore.

_'But all the things that God would have us do are hard (...) And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves'_

 

*

 

‘So, this new synthetic food will ensure Cygnia Minor never suffers from famine again?’ Kirk repeated slowly. His eyebrows furrowed. ‘If that’s true, that’s great. I don’t get why we were specifically called for it, though. The USS Endurance is much better equipped to transport cargo, and it could get here quickly enough.’

 

‘The doctor on Planet Q insisted he would not trust it with Starfleet, citing a paranoiac belief that we would use it for military or imperialistic aims,’ said the Tellarite admiral on the subspace channel, her annoyance clear in her voice. ‘He said he would only deal with Captain James T. Kirk.’

 

Kirk almost jolted in his chair. ‘Excuse me?’

 

The admiral sighed. ‘He said he would not trust any Starfleet official, but he had previous dealings with you, and would only give you the formula.’ There was a low growl. ‘I do not like the situation – it sounds like a deception.’

 

‘Who is the doctor?’ Spock asked.

 

‘Thomas Leighton.’

 

There was a crashing sound as Kirk’s padd dropped to the floor. Spock looked over to find his captain had paled, eyes staring into the distance. ‘Leighton?’ he said quietly. He cleared his throat, and carefully picked up the padd from the floor. ‘Didn’t think I’d ever see him again,’ he muttered to himself.

 

*

 

Kirk almost ran out of the briefing room, straight to the nearest toilet. He fell to his knees, retching into the bowl. His head thrummed, and he closed his eyes against a swirling grey at the edge of his vision.

 

He’d have to see Leighton again. Have to acknowledge a past that he had battled so hard to keep buried.

 

A past he had tried so hard to run away from.

 

A part of himself that he had worked so hard to hide.

 

He could hear a light knock at the door of the toilet, and he took a breath. ‘One minute,’ he called, though it sounded as if someone else were speaking for him. He swallowed, waiting for the nausea to pass.

 

He knew it was Spock outside. Could tell by the precise rhythm of the knock. God, he wanted to run into his arms. Be held by him. Protected. Told that everything was going to be okay.

 

He must never know. He must never find out.

 

Kirk got to his feet, and made his way to the sink. He rinsed his hands and mouth, and took a quick assessment of his reflection. Pale and shaken, but he’d looked worse. ‘Just coming,’ he called.

 

*

 

Spock considered suggesting that Jim visit Doctor McCoy, but knew his suggestion was likely to be rebuffed. Something had unsettled his friend.

 

Like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, thought Spock, a phrase his mother used to say. He waited while that rush of emotion - fondness and sadness and guilt – that always accompanied thoughts of his mother had abated.

 

His friend, his… well, what to think of him? Jim looked burdened. And he didn’t know what he could do to lessen it for him. To carry it for him.

 

Spock was not tactile. He was not demonstrative. Yet, he longed – a yearning, that ached and pulled at him – to embrace his friend. To reassure him. To hold him. To tell him that his struggles were not only his struggles, but that he would fight beside him. That he would keep him safe.

 

Protect him. Cherish him. Love him.

 

*

 

‘Well, the crew are going to be disappointed that the R’n’R will be cut short,’ Jim sighed, walking over to the replicator in his quarters, getting himself and Spock a cup of tea (a Vulcan spicy blend that was a little like taking a sledgehammer to your sinuses, but he had grown quite fond of the taste). ‘At least we can confirm a longer break when we’re back at Starfleet HQ.’

 

‘Indeed,’ Spock said calmly. He stood by the chair, arms at parade rest behind his back. He took a gamble. ‘Are you going to disclose how you know Leighton?’

 

Jim nearly froze at the replicator, but shook himself out of it. ‘I would prefer if you didn’t ask,’ he replied.

 

Spock walked over to take the cups, and placed them on the table. He then turned to Jim, walking until he was close enough to place his hands on Jim’s upper arms. ‘If you do want to talk, I am here.’

 

Jim swallowed. ‘I can’t ask you to listen to me while I bore you with my past, can I Spock?’ he said, trying to keep his voice light and jovial.

 

Spock’s eyes seemed to smoulder like two hot coals. ‘There is very little you can ask of me that I would not do for you, Jim.’ He moved closer still, and once again he was there, standing so close, looming over him in an almost predacious way. ‘Is this acceptable?’ he asked, that sultry purr back in his voice.

 

‘Yes,’ Jim answered too quickly, and he closed his eyes. ‘Yes, always Spock,’ he said softly.

 

He felt Spock’s lips touch his, soft and warm and gentle. A caress, almost innocent. Exquisite.

 

The kiss grew more heated. It blossomed into other kisses, as sweet but with more force, more need. Spock moved a hand into Jim’s hair, and Jim moved his hands onto Spock’s hips, pulling their bodies closer.

 

To both their surprise, Jim was the sensible one, and he tilted his head away eventually, giving them a chance to breathe. He looked at Spock, blue eyes alight, a kiss-swollen smile that promised nothing but sin. ‘Gods, you’re good at that,’ he said.

 

‘Your performance was satisfactory,’ Spock deadpanned, and his lips quirked into that soft smile when Jim laughed.

 

‘You’re such a smug ass sometimes,’ Jim replied, but he still bent his head so it would fit in the crook of Spock’s neck and shoulder. He kissed the small area of skin showing above the collar, and revelled in the slight shiver that quaked through Spock. ‘So, um… what happens now?’

 

Spock moved slightly to kiss Jim on the forehead. ‘You go to bed, Jim. It is late, and you have been up for nearly twenty hours straight.’

 

‘You coming with me?’ asked Jim, before he could stop himself. His eyes widened, and he held onto Spock tightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, words falling out of his mouth, ‘I’m sorry, stupid joke, I didn’t mean to-‘

 

Spock silenced him with a passionate kiss. ‘Not yet,’ he whispered.

 

_*_

_‘Doesn’t the devil live forever; who ever heard that the devil was dead?’_

_*_

 

Doctor Thomas Leighton was nothing like he used to be. Gone were the mousey brown curls and dirt-streaked knees. The man was small, wiry and bald. Two grey eyes studied them intensely as they walked into his lab on Planet Q, barely acknowledging his assistant as she made the introductions and then left. He briefly looked at Spock.

 

‘I only agreed to speak with Kirk,’ he spat, his voice thin and reedy.

 

Spock remained unperturbed. ‘I am his second in command. I do not see a reason for my presence to be either unanticipated or disagreeable.’

 

Leighton’s mouth twisted, as if he were grinding his teeth. ‘It is an unnecessary complication.’

 

‘What does it complicate?’ Kirk shot back, arms crossed. ‘You asked to speak to me, I’m here. Spock is an exemplary officer and trusted confidante of mine – you have no reason to reject to his presence, and no authority to either.’ He sighed. ‘Doctor,’ he tried in a more diplomatic and conciliatory tone. ‘We would really like to see the synthesised crop.’

 

Leighton started fidgeting with his hands. ‘That is not possible.’

 

Kirk bit his tongue and took a deep breath before he said something incredibly undiplomatic. ‘Why not?’

 

Leighton laughed bitterly. ‘Because there isn’t one. The Cygnians just need to learn to plant seeds instead of throw bombs.’ He crossed his arms, a nasty smile on his face. ‘I just needed you here.’

 

Kirk’s hands twitched with the urge to strangle Leighton. ‘You lied to us?’ He shook his head to clear it. ‘That’s just… why would you do something so stupid? The penalty of lying to the Federation, the legal ramifications-‘

 

‘Because I needed someone else here to see him!’ Leighton screeched, eyes blazing. ‘Someone who was there.’ He stared off into the distance. ‘I know it’s him,’ he began muttering. ‘He didn’t die – everyone died, but he didn’t die.’

 

Spock was about to ask the question of who, but Kirk knew.

 

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He was dead.

 

_But are you sure?_ said the voice of his nightmares.

 

Leighton looked back at him, stared at him. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve worked it out, now you see why I needed you. Someone who was there. Someone who can see the truth.’

 

Kirk felt sick. As if some giant hand had picked him up, pulled out his innards, and swung him round like a sling.

 

Leighton looked pale and twitchy. ‘I’m not mad,’ he said quickly. ‘At least, I don’t think- I wish I was, I hope I am, I really, really do.’ He looked at Kirk, tears in his eyes. ‘Please, if I am, you’ll tell me. But if I’m not-‘

 

‘Then the Executioner is still alive,’ Kirk replied, his voice weak and hollow. _See?_ said that voice, _you can’t kill the devil._

 

*

 

_Then_

 

Jim fidgeted in his ceremonial clothes. ‘I don’t know why we have to wear these old things, god knows what they’re made of,’ he whispered out the side of his mouth to Grace. ‘We could’ve replicated ones out of better materials.’

 

‘You know the replicators are for food only,’ Grace whispered back.

 

Jim turned to her. ‘That doesn’t make sense though, it’s not like they can’t break down something into something else. You can make food into clothes and the other way round.’

 

‘Eyes front Mr Kirk,’ said the teacher harshly. ‘I expect good behaviour from all of you,’ she went on, sharp eyes resting on Jim and Grace for a second longer than everyone else.

 

‘Try not to get us in trouble again Kirk,’ the boy next to him hissed.

 

Jim smiled sweetly. ‘Leighton, if you didn’t have me getting you into trouble occasionally, you would die from boredom.’

 

‘You’re an ass, Kirk.’

 

Jim was tempted to unveil one of the more colourful curses he had learnt from Frank in his rebuttal, but they were interrupted by the entrance of the school’s VIP, and a hush fell over the assembled students and staff.

 

The man was tall and slim, almost gaunt in his high collar black tunic. He had dark, flame-red hair, clearly receding, and a manicured red moustache and beard that reminded Jim of a Dickensian villain. He walked slowly and elegantly, hands behind his back, and surveyed the room as he made his way to the podium at the front.

 

Oh gods, thought Jim, don’t let him go on for ages. He shuffled on his feet slightly, wishing they’d been allowed chairs.

 

‘As education secretary,’ the man began, in a booming voice, full of the confidence that it would be listened to and obeyed. ‘It is my pleasure to meet the future of our colony…’

 

Jim let his mind wander, no longer listening. It wasn’t important.

 

Not like he really needed to know what this Kodos thought of anything.

 

*

 

_Now_

 

‘He calls himself Anton Karidian, but it’s Antoine Kodos,’ Leighton went on, pacing to the replicator and getting a clear liquid that Spock could smell was alcoholic even from where he was standing.

 

‘What makes you so sure?’ Kirk asked, his face pale.

 

Leighton gave an arrogant shrug. ‘Paid more attention at school than you did Kirk, for a start,’ he said coldly. ‘He visited two or three times. Even spoke to him once.’ A shudder ran through him. ‘About Herman Melville, of all things.’

 

‘Yes, but… it’s been twenty years,’ Kirk said softly. ‘How could you be sure?’

 

Leighton spun round, eyes iridescent with rage. ‘You don’t think his face hasn’t been etched onto my nightmares? Carved into the fibre of my soul?’ He slammed the glass onto the table, the crack of glass on metal. ‘He may be grey-haired instead of red, and got rid of that stupid beard but kept that mincy moustache of his, but those eyes… even the way he talks is the same.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour,’ he quoted, voice loud and grandiose. ‘In this case,’ he continued in his more normal sarcastic tone, ‘he prowls around my laboratory. He is one of the lab assistants.’ He looked at Kirk. ‘Peter chapter five, verse eight… I doubt you’d remember our lessons.’

 

‘I never paid attention to anything I thought wasn’t useful to me,’ Kirk answered.

 

‘You were arrogant enough to think nothing was,’ Leighton shot back.

 

Spock looked from one man to the other, unsure of how to proceed. The atmosphere in the room (if he had been inclined to think figuratively) had become practically arctic. He cleared his throat. ‘I believe the Federation would not be able to put on trial such a figure on the testimony of two witnesses, even ones as credible as yourselves gentlemen,’ he said neutrally. ‘My knowledge of Kodos is academic, but there must be other methods to help test the validity of your claim, that are scientific in nature and therefore cannot be biased by human fallibility.

 

Leighton gave Spock a look that could have curdled milk. ‘That’s why I needed golden captain here, poster boy of the Federation. They’d listen to him.’ He leered. ‘You’d think with Vulcan logic, you’d figure that out.’

 

Kirk felt his blood turn from cold to hot, and if Spock hadn’t been there (the calming, reassuring presence that he was), he may have just given in to his baser instincts and tackled Leighton to the ground and punched his stupid, stupid face. ‘I will overlook your rudeness to me, but my first officer is a member of my crew, and therefore I will not tolerate any lack of courtesy to him,’ he said coldly. ‘I will speak to this Karidian and observe, if you could arrange it.’

 

‘Staff party this evening, end of project celebration,’ Leighton replied. ‘I won’t introduce you as an old friend – no one would believe that – but I can say a surprise visit from Starfleet, diplomatic run.’

 

‘That works. It would be me, Spock and my chief medical officer who would be here.’

 

‘Official dress, then. Make it more believable.’ He ran a hand over his head. ‘I’ll inform the staff that we are expecting dignitaries, but I won’t mention Starfleet. Not yet.’

 

*

 

At some point Kirk and Spock were going to have to have a conversation.  There may have been a chance once they beamed back to the Enterprise, but as soon as they stepped off the pad, they had ship enquiries to deal with. Kirk was animated and speaking quickly, looking up the files sent over by Leighton, and Spock sat in his lab, pouring over Karidian’s latest research.

 

Spock wanted answers, but he did not know if he had the right to ask them of his friend.

 

Kirk wanted Spock, but dear gods, he couldn’t face any questions.

 

*

 

‘These things itch worse than ants at a picnic,’ McCoy muttered, pulling at his collar. ‘Why are we here again?’

 

‘To meet with a man called Karidian, who may be Kodos.’

 

‘I know why we’re here, Spock,’ Mccoy said, sighing. ‘It’s a figure of speech.’

 

‘I do not see how a redundant question can be a figure of speech,’ Spock huffed.

 

‘Gentlemen, please,’ Kirk reprimanded quietly. ‘Now isn’t the time.’ He fidgeted on his feet. He looked over as the guests were met at the door by the maître d, who had a charming smile as shiny and as false as iron pyrite.

 

McCoy’s forehead creased. ‘Damnit Jim, I’m a doctor, not a spy,’ he hissed. ‘I don’t like it.’

 

The name ‘Anton Karidian’ was called, and Kirk swallowed down bile. He turned to see a tall gaunt man, with grey hair and a high forehead, two light brown eyes set in deep wrinkles over a wide nose and immaculately groomed grey moustache. The man walked in slowly, carefully, and the two eyes settled on the three strangers.

 

‘Good evening. We were not expecting the visitors to be Starfleet,’ the man called out to them, walking up to them. He extended a hand to Kirk, thin fingers and short, clean nails. ‘And a captain no less.’

 

Kirk shook the hand. ‘We were invited by the mayor of your town to see the new developments your laboratory has made, and to discuss potential trade with the Federation.’

 

Karidian smiled gracefully. ‘How exciting,’ he said almost gleefully. ‘My name is Anton Karidian, one of the lowly assistants, but if I can be of any service, captain…?’ he paused expectantly.

 

‘Captain Kirk,’ he replied.

 

Karidian’s eyes widened fractionally, and something seemed to pass over them, like fog over the sea. ‘ _The_ captain Kirk?’ he said, shocked. ‘Why, we are honoured,’ he went on, tone perfectly balanced between obsequiousness and genuine delight.

 

‘I see a reputation has preceded me; not sure if it’s accurate,’ Kirk said cheerfully ( _keep him talking_ ).

 

Karidian smiled again. ‘Why Captain, a man should always be careful of his reputation,’ he mock-scolded. ‘It lasts far longer than he, and will outlive any of his works or endeavours.’

 

Kirk tilted his head. ‘I disagree. We remember the works with more clarity than whether the individual was good or not.’ He looked at Karidian intently. ‘We remember the deeds.’

 

‘But never the truth,’ Karidian replied, a touch of ice in his reply. He turned to McCoy and Spock. ‘I see you are part of Starfleet’s science division gentlemen,’ he said breezily. ‘What, if I may ask, in particular interested Starfleet in our humble operations?’

 

Spock was a smooth liar when the situation called for it. ‘This planet’s research into a potential cure for histidine allergies is a matter of particular interest.’

 

Karidian beamed brightly. ‘That is my own area of work. I hold the level of lab technician grade two, but my supervisor is kind enough to let me have some time for my own experiments. Xenobotany and xenomycology have always been my interests. If you have any questions as to the state of my current research, please, I would be honoured to assist.’

 

There was the sound of another guest being announced, and Karidian bowed his head. ‘I must not monopolise you any more than I already have – my colleagues will want to meet you as well.’ He gave a smile that Lewis Carroll might have imagined the walrus giving the oysters. ‘Enjoy your evening gentlemen,’ he said as he moved away.

 

‘Well, genocidal maniac or not, I don’t like him,’ McCoy grumbled.

 

Kirk turned to his friend. ‘You never like anyone when you first meet them.’

 

McCoy nodded. ‘True,’ he said gruffly. He gave a small smile. ‘Jury’s still out on you too, kid.’

 

*

 

After death, the body turns colder. This algor mortis, or death chill, occurs at a rate of 0.83 degrees Celsius until it reaches the ambient temperature. Rigor mortis, the stiffening of the body caused by the blood pooling as it no longer circulates around the body, begins between two and six hours after death.

 

McCoy knelt down by Leighton’s shoulders and looked closely at the knife wound. ‘They’ve slit both carotid arteries,’ he told the officer from the planet’s local constabulary force. ‘Horrible way to die.’

 

The officer looked queasy. ‘We think it was an attempted robbery gone wrong.’

 

McCoy whistled. ‘Seems too aggressive for a robbery. I mean, this is vicious. Deliberate.’

 

McCoy got to his feet. ‘I’d be happy to assist with the post mortem, if you don’t mind. This is your jurisdiction, but since it happened while we were here, Starfleet would want me to write a report.’

 

The officer looked like a man who, having been only taught how to paddle, was suddenly expected to swim with sharks. ‘That should be fine,’ he said.

 

‘Much appreciated,’ McCoy told him, then leaned towards him. ‘There’s a bush about twenty metres away, round that corner, that’s not visible from any of the lab windows. Already been searched and considered not part of the crime scene, so if you need to throw up or-‘

 

‘Thank you,’ squeaked the officer, who was already moving away and sprinting in the direction of the bush.


	4. The Descent of Tarsus IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to child abuse.

_Then_

Tarsus IV is the fourth planet of its solar system, a Class M planet able to sustain life that is similar in physiological composition to many races found in the Federation. Before it was colonised it had no significant predators – there was abundant flora (non-toxic) and many species of flying omnivores, that resembled birds except they were far more docile.

 

Then humans arrived.

 

At first it was in fairly small numbers, mainly scientists, with their tricorders and their sample kits. Then it was more, not just scientists but labourers, who worked the soil and built small, modest huts.

 

If the planet had a voice, it would question them.

 

Many of the labourers used the replicators in their ships until they grew crops. Crops such as wheat, pulses, but mostly sugarcane (incredibly valuable– Orions couldn’t get enough of the stuff) that grew quickly, in a fecund abundance in that mineral-rich loamy soil. They hunted the bird-things; not for the meat, because there was little of it and it tasted disgusting, but just something to stave off the boredom.

 

If the planet had voice, it would beg them to stop.

 

After a time more people came, and they brought more materials. They did not build huts but houses and other buildings. They began to pave the ground with roads, so it was easier for their vehicles to drag materials around. (Hover technology wasn’t something the people who came agreed with. They believed in older, more traditional technology. It matched their older, more traditional values.)

 

More people came. More land was given over to sugarcane as it was the most profitable crop. They expanded their fields, felling and pulling out the native plants, ploughing the soil and planting the new seeds.

 

If the planet had a voice, it would plead for mercy.

 

Within only a few years, there are no native creatures on Tarsus IV. They have been hunted to extinction.

 

Such reckless and irresponsible behaviour would never been allowed under Federation Law. But this is why the colonists are here. They are pioneers, far from the rules and regulations, from the laws and decrees of the Federation. This is their world.

 

If the planet had a voice, it would be screaming.

 

The balance between ecology and population was teetering. The population steadily grew, with more and more settling; the amount of sugarcane grown was increased, and Terran cattle was reintroduced for ‘authentic’ meat.

 

A government was established. There was an elected leader, their political elite, and their private guard (but they made enemies within their ranks). Cities became cosmopolitan. And expensive. The rural outskirts was cheaper, but overcrowded and ill-maintained.

 

Over time there were more people than could be sustained by the replicators alone. There were more people than could live on the crops or meat alone.

 

But as long as nothing went wrong with any of those, everything was fine.

 

A fungus is a eukaryotic organism that is neither plant nor animal. The one that cultivated on Tarsus IV was microscopic, only visible when enough had cultivated around the sugarcane to appear as a light blue dust.

 

By this point the plant was dead and poisonous to eat. This was found out fairly early on, but not publicised until a few more deaths had occurred. Eventually to stop the blight fields of the sugarcane were burnt.

 

This lead to the problem of lack of fuel for the replicators, as it was sourced mainly from the Orion syndicate, in exchange for the sugarcane. The government of Tarsus IV wanted to avoid trading with the Federation because, despite all rhetoric of non-interference and impartiality, they had a tendency to meddle.

 

And the government of Tarsus IV did not want meddlers. Certain practices worked for them well, but there was no need for anyone outside of the colony to know about them (or the majority of those in the colony to know about them either).

 

So, though they were trying to convince the particular enclave of Orions they had dealt with to give fuel in good faith (the agricultural problem was only in a few, isolated incidents, and would not spread at all, normal supplies should be resumed soon), assistance looked unlikely.

 

But they had time. Food stocks were dwindling, and the replicators would run out of fuel, and more of the land and the cattle were dying from the blight…

 

… But they had time.

 

*

 

_Now_

‘You offered him a job?’ McCoy’s voice was high, twisted by disbelief. ‘He might be one of the most evil men in human history, and you’re giving him room and board?!’

 

Kirk’s face was tight. ‘It means he’s on the ship, and we can take him back to HQ. We can also then take our time establishing if it is him or not.’

 

‘Say he is,’ McCoy began, arms crossed, eyes blazing. ‘You really goin’ to sit here, in this tin can, with him? Hmm?’ He gave Kirk an intensely clinical gaze. ‘All the grief he caused you… you wouldn’t want to kill him for it?’

 

‘Yeah, I would,’ Kirk said viciously. ‘If I knew, really knew, it was him, I would quite happily strangle him with my bare hands, tear him to pieces if I could.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘And I’d do it with a smile, because that bastard is evil and deserves to die.’ He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. ‘But I’d have to be sure. And I trust you to stop me.’

 

McCoy uncrossed his arms and walked over to his friend. He drew the younger man to him, embracing him firmly. ‘Goddamnit kid,’ he shakily replied, ‘I’d never let you throw your life away like that.’

 

Kirk let himself bury his head into his friend’s shoulder, let the tears fall. ‘It’s just…’ he started, words wobbling, ‘…it was meant to be over.’

 

*

 

_Then_

When Jim stepped off the shuttle ramp, he was overwhelmed by the noise of the station. It was full of people – all human – shouting and calling, laughing and scolding, all struggling to be heard over the sound of the ships and everyone else.

 

He fought the urge to put his hands over his ears, to block out the sound. To run away.

 

A man bumped into him. ‘Stop gawking and get off the ramp kid!’ he squalled, and Jim jumped to the side, desperate not to be swept up like debris in the tide of people that had just disembarked. He breathed in through his nose for four beats, held it for seven and breathed out of his mouth for eleven. He did this three or four times, waiting until his head stopped pounding and his hands stopped trembling.

 

‘Hey there sweetheart, can’t stand there all day,’ said a soft voice next to him, and he opened his eyes to see a woman so wizened with age and bent over so much that their faces were at the same height. ‘Just keep moving forwards, and then when you see the wall go left and keep going straight into the reception area. You’ll see a big desk, and the nice folk there will help you for sure.’

 

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled, and she gave him a small smile and moved on.

 

When he got to the reception area, he was relieved to find it was much cooler and quieter, with far fewer people. He went to the desk and gave his name to a boy who couldn’t have been much older than he was.

 

‘Ah right, James T. Kirk, reference 22032233,’ the attendant said in a disinterested voice. ‘Your aunt and uncle are already here; just take the doors on the right. They’re probably on the big grey sofas, by the windows, that’s where the food and drink replicators are.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Jim replied. He hesitated.

 

‘Anything else I can help you with?’ the attendant asked, in a tone that made it very clear he hoped that there wasn’t.

 

‘No thank you. I’ll just… I’ll just…’ Jim began, but the attendant went back to typing on his padd and Jim knew a dismissal.

 

He began walking slowly. He debated whether he should get out the message that his aunt had sent him, look at their photos again, remind himself of what they looked like. Yet, he knew he didn’t need to. His uncle Ethan was almost a mirror image of what his father had looked like, just with darker hair and hazel eyes; his wife Aroha, had long curly black hair and a kind face.

 

(‘She’s fat,’ Frank had commented when he’d seen the picture of them. ‘Mind you, a lot of them-‘ he started, but Jim hastily exited the room before he could hear any more.)

 

What the photos had not shown was how tall his uncle was. As he approached them, his aunt sitting down and his uncle standing by the window next to her, he could see how towering and broad-shouldered he was. He tried not to worry about this.

 

‘Hi,’ Jim said weakly. He cleared his throat.  ‘I’m your problem now, I guess,’ he said, giving a roguish smile.

 

His uncle smiled. Aroha beamed, her face lighting up, and clapped her hands. ‘Hello. Hi. So lovely to finally meet you.’ She bounced up. ‘Do you hug? Can I hug you?’

 

‘Uhh… okay,’ said Jim, and a second later he was almost swept up by Aroha, who had wrapped her arms around him (where did he put his arms? this is overwhelming… actually, this is nice), and was holding him protectively. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she laughed, drawing back. ‘We’re just so excited you’re here, and I’ve been wanting to meet you for ageeeesss.’

 

‘Really?’ Jim squeaked.

 

‘Aroha,’ his uncle reproached gently. ‘Nice to meet you Jim,’ he said, extending a hand, which Jim shook tentatively. ‘Listen, why don’t we take you back to ours, and you can have a rest and after dinner we can talk about where you want to start, alright?’

 

Jim nodded. ‘That would be good, thanks.’

 

Aroha picked up his bag, ignoring his protest. ‘This all of it?’ she asked surprised.

 

Jim shuffled on his feet. ‘Yeah.’

 

His aunt and uncle exchanged a quick look that Jim couldn’t decipher but could guess it was something bad. He tried not to panic – had he already screwed this up?

 

His aunt smiled at him. ‘You have basics – sonic brush, soap etc?’ Jim nodded. ‘Great,’ she replied. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

 

*

 

The teacher looked down at the unfortunate girl, slate-grey eyes contemptuous. ‘Perhaps you could explain to the class,’ she began in a contrived, scathing tone, ‘why, even though everyone else has copied the text from the board, you have not.’

 

The girl remained silent, eyes down. Jim was several desks away from her, but he could tell from the tension in her hunched shoulders and her eerie stillness that she was incredibly embarrassed.

 

The teacher went on, crossing her arms, her voice more theatrical. ‘Hhmm? Nothing to say? Well, perhaps you can apologise to everyone, when we will all stay here for recess instead of going outside.’ She swept her hands. ‘And class, we all know who we can thank for that.’

 

There was a general muttering, and Jim saw his classmates give the girl angry stares. Jim felt a horrible roil in his gut of sympathy and rage. ‘Well, it’s your fault we’re not going outside,’ he pointed out, before he could stop himself. ‘So thank you Miss.’

 

The teacher turned to him sharply. ‘Excuse me?’ she said, eyes blinking.

 

Jim leaned back in his chair. ‘It doesn’t affect me one way or the other whether she’s written what’s on the board or not. And she’s not telling me I can’t go outside, you are.’

 

In hindsight - as he was rubbing the sore part of his palm that still had a faint burn mark where the teacher had used the disciplinary taser - maybe he had gone too far. But seeing the gratitude in the girl’s eyes had totally been worth it.

 

They were sitting next to each other after classes ended, both held for detention. The teacher had spent nearly twenty minutes glaring at them both, then gone to get a drink.

 

‘I’m Jim,’ he whispered.

 

‘I know,’ she replied, then bit her lip nervously. ‘Grace.’

 

‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’d shake your hand, but it still really stings.’

 

She shrugged. ‘You get used to it.’

 

Jim’s eyes widened. ‘You mean… they use that thing a lot?!’

 

Grace gave a mirthless smile and held her hands out palm facing upwards. Little patches of skin in various stages of healing, a kaleidoscope of yellows, oranges and painful reds. ‘Like I said, you get used to it.’

 

*

 

Jim knew he shouldn’t have been listening (but at least Frank couldn’t catch him at it). He sat by the bannisters in the dark, sitting quietly as his aunt’s and uncle’s voices drifted from the sitting room.

 

‘I don’t know what I can do…’ Ethan said sadly.

‘There’s nothing ‘to do’ babe, you just have to be patient.’ Aroha replied gently.

‘How can I be patient, when it’s just… I mean, Ro, he’s still scared of me.’ There was a sound of a choked sob. ‘He hides it, tries to be as cheeky with me as he is with you sometimes, but…’

‘It’s not something you’ve done. You’re not doing anything wrong.’

‘I know that, I just can’t – you know, I haven’t had to tell him off at all. It’s like he’s on eggshells around me. Haven’t even had to raise my voice, or ask him twice to do something.’ He sighed. ‘The other day, you know when he borrowed my tools without asking, left them in a mess…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I went up to him, told him he should have asked, put them away tidy, and you know what happened?’

‘No. What happened?’

‘He flinched. Before I even started talking, god’s honest truth, he flinched.’ There was another choked sob. ‘He huddled up into himself, must have thought I was going to… Ro, I would never…’

Aroha’s own voice was high. ‘Babe, I know you never would. And he’ll learn that too, it’ll just take time.’ She sighed. ‘I could kill him.’

‘Frank?’

‘Yeah, that bastard. What the hell has he done to those boys? And where is Winona in all of this?’

 

There were a few minutes where Jim couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own irregular breathing as he tried to hold in his tears.

 

‘Ro, we’ll…we’ll get there in the end, won’t we? Me and Jim?’

‘Of course you will.’ There was a soft laugh. ‘You’re stubborn like that.’

‘You’re calling me stubborn? You? Really?’

‘And sweet. Stubborn and sweet.’

‘Well, I suppose…’

‘Like a donkey.’

‘Did you just call me an ass?’ Ethan harrumphed, but Aroha was laughing too hard to respond.

 

*

 

‘Jim, Grace, you’d better keep whistling while you’re cutting those strawberries,’ his aunt called from the other room.

 

‘Why?’ threw back Jim, bemused.

 

‘So I can tell you’re not eating them,’ his aunt cheerfully called back.

 

Jim and Grace looked at each other, both with a strawberry halfway to their mouths. There was a guilt-ridden exchange made with no words only eyebrows, and they both put the strawberries down.

 

‘Any requests?’ Jim shouted, only a touch snarkily (he was quite impressed with his aunt’s shrewdness).

 

‘Whatever you like. I’m not fussy.’

 

The two children looked at each other, and both broke into the same tune.

 

‘It’s just as well that you’re whistling; I know the lyrics are mostly swearing,’ his uncle said, sauntering into the room. He smiled at them both, and reached for a strawberry-

 

‘You start whistling too, Ethan.’

 

Ethan sighed and put the strawberry down, and joined in with the whistling.

 

*

 

‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ asked Jim, the question popping into his head suddenly.

Grace looked down shyly. ‘I would love to write children’s books but-‘

Jim jumped up excitedly. ‘Yes! You’d be so good at that!’

She barked out a cynical laugh. ‘I think you have to be able to write first.’

He waved a hand. ‘You can write; you just have a bit of wobbly spelling sometimes.’ A flash of inspiration. ‘How about you tell me them, I’ll write, and you do the pictures?’

Grace smiled. ‘That’s a good idea.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a brilliant idea; it’s one of mine.’

 

*

 

‘Do you think your aunt and uncle mind?’ Grace asked softly, hesitantly. ‘Me being here all the time?’

Jim looked up from his book. ‘No,’ he said with surety. ‘Anyways, you’re not here all the time.’

 

‘I… I guess.’ There was a pause. ‘It would be nice if I was,’ she said quietly.

 

Jim felt his cheeks heat. ‘I’d like that.’

 

They looked up, then realised they couldn’t really meet the other’s eyes. Jim felt the heat spread across his face, and his stomach seemed to take a slow dive. He cleared his throat. ‘Did you want to read this one next?’ he asked, holding up the comic.

‘Is that the one with the giant robots smashing all the buildings, then they have to fight that giant fire-breathing mutant dinosaur?’ Grace asked hopefully.

‘Nah, it’s the one where there’s this woman, and her father is held hostage by this beast-thing, so she offers to take his place…’

‘She doesn’t just kill the monster, and save her dad?’

‘Urggh!’ Jim huffed. ‘No, it’s a really sweet one, where she befriends him and-‘

Grace rolled her eyes (she mostly did it to annoy Jim). ‘It’s not another gushy one, is it?’

‘It’s classic literature!’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s any good.’

Jim rolled his eyes. ‘Philistine.’

She pushed his shoulder roughly, causing him to almost fall onto his side. ‘Hey!’ he admonished, but she just laughed at him. Against his better judgment, he started laughing too.

 

*

 

‘You’re more like Tinkerbell than Peter Pan,’ Grace said, crossing her arms and screwing up her face. ‘And I don’t want to be Wendy, she’s boring.’

‘But she’s the girl!’

‘So?’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘I’m going to be a pirate.’

Jim sighed heavily. ‘You can’t be a pirate, you have to be Wendy, so I, Peter Pan, can rescue you.’ He tutted. ‘If I’m Peter, and you’re a pirate, who’s Wendy?’

Both of them stared angrily at each other, until a solution came to both of them and they smiled at each other.

‘Ethan!’ they both shouted downstairs.

 

*

 

‘You know, you can read any of these, just help yourself,’ Ethan said, pointing to the bookcase. It was solid dark wood, nearly as high as the ceiling, and filled with paperbacks.

 

‘You have physical books?’ Jim asked breathlessly.

 

Ethan smiled. ‘Aroha calls this the ‘tree graveyard’. Says I’m weird for not having them on my padd. But this coming from the woman who watches black and white holovids and fixes motorbikes.’

 

Jim took a deep breath and a chance. ‘Maybe you’re both weird,’ he replied.

 

Ethan bellowed a laugh. ‘Yep, that’s why we get on I suppose.’

 

Jim turned to the bookcase, picking one up that had a heavy red cover. ‘Fanny Hill,’ he read aloud.

 

Ethan turned as red as the book cover. ‘Maybe not that one, you’ll be bored stiff,’ he said hastily. ‘How about… this one?’ He passed over a heavy book that had ‘Asimov’ written on it. ‘One of my favourites.’

 

Jim took it and smiled. ‘Thank you. Might give this a go,’ he said, walking out the room. He turned back. ‘I… I am grateful for…’ He swallowed. ‘I mean, thanks for…’

 

Ethan walked over to him slowly, and knelt down so he was at the same height. ‘You don’t have to be grateful,’ he whispered gently. ‘We’re your family.’ He sighed, and blinked a few times. ‘And I know it must be weird for you, but we’re so pleased –I’m so pleased you’re here. You…’ He cautiously held out his hand and placed it on Jim’s shoulder, smiling as Jim let it stay there. ‘Whatever you need, we’ll be here.’ The fingers curled, putting a comforting pressure on Jim’s shoulder. ‘You are wanted, and you are loved. Please remember that Jim.’

 

Jim felt as if the room was suddenly too small yet also suddenly too big. He couldn’t… it was all too much…

 

He bolted into his uncle’s arms, clinging on as a drowning man might cling to a buoy in stormy waters. He sobbed into his uncle’s shoulder, and revelled in the warmth and protection of his uncle’s strong arms around him.

 

His uncle was strong but he knew - he finally knew- his uncle would never hurt him.

And he knew that he could be happy.

 


End file.
